"I'm up here, and I can take a dispassionate view of things. There's
an organized conspiracy against us. I'm sure of it, because every
single one of these waves is heading directly for our bows. The whole
sea is concerned in it--and so's the wind. It's awful!"

"What's awful?" said a wave, drowning the capstan for the hundredth
time.

"This organized conspiracy on your part," the capstan gurgled, taking
his cue from the mast.

"Organized bubbles and spindrift! There has been a depression in the
Gulf of Mexico. Excuse me!" He leaped overside; but his friends took
up the tale one after another.

"Which has advanced--" _That_ wave threw green over the funnel.

"As far as Cape Hatteras--" _He_ drenched the bridge.

"And is now going out to sea--to sea--to sea!" _He_ went out in three
surges, making a clean sweep of a boat, which turned bottom up and
sank in the darkening troughs alongside.

"That's all there is to it," seethed the broken water, roaring
through the scuppers. "There's no animus in our proceedings. We're a
meteorological corollary."

"Is it going to get any worse?" said the bow anchor, chained down to
the deck, where he could only breathe once in five minutes.